The Ivory Tower
by rebelxxwaltz
Summary: Season 4 AU. Giles was never sent to be Buffy's Watcher. Things get interesting at UC Sunnydale when Buffy meets a handsome history professor who is English, variably tweedy, and happens to have a pocket full of stakes. Written for Summer of Giles 2011.
1. Chapter 1

Hey! This is a cross-post of the story I wrote for Summer of Giles 2011. LJ seems a little buggy today, so I decided to publish here a little sooner than planned… hope everybody enjoys it!

**Title: **The Ivory Tower: Part 1**  
>Author: <strong>mischiefmagnet**  
>Rating: <strong> An unusually tame T. What can I say? Bitten by the UST bug...**  
>Pairing: <strong>Indicators of future Giles/Buffy**  
>Fic Summary: <strong>An AU season 4 scenario. What if Giles was never sent to be Buffy's Watcher? Things get interesting at UC Sunnydale when Buffy meets a handsome history professor who is English, variably tweedy, and happens to have a pocket full of stakes. A stand-alone retooling of 'The Freshman', with other installments hopefully to follow.**  
>Word Count: <strong>Entire fic clocks in around 15,000**  
>Disclaimer: <strong>Standard disclaimers apply. Not mine, just playing. Will give back when finished (maybe).**  
>Spoilers: <strong>Definite spoilers for everything up to the beginning of season 4, despite the AU nature of the story.**  
>Thanks: <strong>Special shout out to littleotter73 for sanity checks and all-around tolerant helpfulness!**  
>Notes: <strong>There are some literary/pop culture/historical references in this fic, which I will explain in notes at the end of each chapter for those who are at all interested, along with some info on characterizations. This fic contains a few instances of borrowed/slightly altered dialogue from S4 x 01, 'The Freshman'.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx  
>The Ivory Tower<br>xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

A year and a half. That was how long he had been here.

One year, seven months, and thirteen days to be more specific.

Less than two years in Sunnydale, and Professor Rupert Giles had seen more things to raise the hair on the back of his neck than he had in the preceding twenty. During his travels, many of which were undertaken on Council business, he had encountered quite a number of incredible and terrifying things. Once there had been talking snakes in the Amazon, nine feet long and happy to tell him how delicious of a snack he would be. A few years later he met a blood cult of vampire ninjas on the northernmost island of Japan. Deep in the Natal Province of South Africa he was chased by ghostly Zulu warriors; his pursuers may have been ghosts, but the spears had been real enough.

And yet, he thought to himself, all of these put together seem a flash in the pan when you compare them to life on the Hellmouth. Vampires, demons, monsters, zombies, shape-shifters, witches, sorcerers, a whole host of nameless dark creatures… and perhaps most frightening of all, the normal people who lived in the town and _failed to notice any of these things_. The university was certainly no exception. The faculty and the students- well, most of them anyway- had no concept of the terrible things happening all around them or even, as was his more particular concern, right beneath their feet.

Sighing, the professor surveyed his handiwork. He had spent the past hour or so rearranging the books and other volumes on the shelf behind the desk in his office to reflect his teaching needs for the new term. The organizational 'system' was dubious at best, at least to an outsider. The alphabet was somehow involved, but that didn't mean that the shelves weren't chock -a-block full of haphazardly stacked tomes. The lower shelves were especially full and twice as dusty, but forgotten grimoires and demon compendia were entirely unlikely to be needed for his more immediate academic purposes.

Teaching was an unfortunate necessity here, as UC Sunnydale had none of the characteristics of a pure research university. Giles' reputation and world class credentials were such that he could usually get away with a couple of graduate seminars and perhaps a semester's worth of lectures on an obscure historical topic… Nothing so taxing that it detracted from his true purpose: monitoring the activities of the organization known as the Initiative.

Unfortunately he hadn't been so lucky this time around. The History Department were in dire straits, it seemed. Over the summer break they had managed to lose one professor to maternity leave, one to a larger university in the UC system, and one to… well, the third one was just _lost_. Sunnydale might be quieter in the summer months, but demonic activity never actually had the good grace to cease _entirely_. Therefore, thanks to a combination of hungry vampires and UCLA, Rupert Giles was about to embark on a most excruciating endeavor- teaching an intro-level course on Western Civilization to one hundred and fifty brand new freshmen. What was that old saying? Those who can't do, teach? Well he could 'do' just fine, thank you ever so bloody much.

Giles slumped into the chair at his desk, depositing his glasses onto a pile of paperwork and tugging fitfully at the collar of his Oxford shirt. Perhaps the universe was trying to tell him that there actually _were_ worse ways to spend his afternoons than spying on that harridan Margaret Walsh and her seemingly endless supply of muscular underlings. This change in his workload bore the mark of exceptionally poor timing- monitoring the Initiative hadn't been the most exciting job he had ever undertaken on the Council's behalf, but a careful observation of the involved parties suggested that something big was going to happen soon. From his observations, the 'something' was complicated, top secret, and keeping Professor Walsh up at nights.

A frown edged its way onto the undercover Watcher's face as he considered whether or not it might be time to reveal his presence to the Council's other active operatives on the Hellmouth. It would be best that the Slayer be apprised of the situation, he reasoned, and informing her Watcher would seem logical. On the other hand… if there were one person in Sunnydale that Professor Giles knew was more intrinsically irritating than Maggie Walsh, it was Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. Surely it was a miracle that the man still wasn't aware of his assignment after all this time, but the university was something like a world of its own… the proverbial ivory tower, looming and distant.

Thinking about Wyndam-Pryce, with his smug face and idiotic by-the-book philosophy, Giles shook his head. By all accounts, the rookie field Watcher had his hands full with the Slayer as it was. He had overheard right from Quentin Travers' own indiscrete mouth in a corridor at Council headquarters that Miss Summers was possessed of a dangerous streak of independence, bordering on outright insubordination. How anyone could think Wyndam-Pryce would be the right man to succeed Merrick under such circumstances was beyond him- perhaps he had expressed sufficient zeal for her rehabilitation that they had deemed him highly suitable for the post.

The professor's lip quirked in amusement, imagining his fellow Watcher being beaten about the head with his own rulebook. As for the Initiative, nothing cataclysmic had happened and the information would keep. He supposed it could wait, for now.

**xxxxx**

For new grad Buffy Anne Summers, the road to higher education was paved with homicidal intentions. Not general ones, though. It's not like she wanted to kill just _anybody_. She had a specific target in mind, and his name began with a W. So did his occupation, although Buffy would be damned if she ever started thinking of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce as _her_ Watcher. The Council was obviously trying to send her off the deep end so that she could be replaced. The only reason it hadn't worked yet was that she refused to give them the satisfaction.

Wesley had been trying to make her life miserable for eight or nine months now. They had sent him as a replacement after the so-called 'test' on her birthday, after Merrick had… Buffy shuddered, not wanting to get lost in the unpleasant memories. It wasn't as if Wesley could ever take Merrick's place, not in a million years. Somehow they had survived the second half of her senior year without doing each other grievous bodily harm, though there had been some close calls. Wesley had even made himself useful in the battle against the mayor, throwing the switch on the explosion that roasted the giant demon snake and decimated Sunnydale High.

Sometimes Buffy felt bad for being so uncooperative with her new Watcher, but he made it _so_ easy. When he tried to be authoritative it tended to fall flat. He disapproved of the 'Slayerettes', but had no choice but to grudgingly allow their presence since Willow and Xander were often more effective at research than he was. And on the rare occasions when Wesley tried to be nice, it just came out sounding so condescending that all Buffy could do was roll her eyes.

As far as college was concerned, he hadn't wanted her to go. After all, it would 'interfere with her duties as the Slayer'. Snorting, Buffy recalled the thunderous look on her mother's face when she shared that particular Wyndam-Pryce gem. If Buffy with or without weapons wasn't enough of a threat to begin with, Joyce Summers' glare could certainly get a job done in style. After several mutual tantrums, one three-way screaming match which included her mother, and an incident with some throwing knives, Wesley agreed to Buffy's perfectly reasonable compromise- she would attend UC Sunnydale. This way she would still be here to guard the Hellmouth _and_ she could get her college education. All those smarty pants ancient demon lords had better watch out, because slay gal was about to start climbing the ivory tower… whatever that meant, exactly.

Depositing the last of the boxes at the foot of her new bed, Buffy looked around the dorm room. Glancing at the clock, she relaxed for a moment. Still half an hour until she had agreed to meet Willow in the quad. Perching on the edge of the bed and crossing her arms over her chest, she smiled slightly. Slayer in college. This should be interesting… right?

**xxxxx**

On the night before classes began, Rupert Giles stopped by the requisition desk at the library to make sure all of the additional course reading he was planning to recommend to his students would be available at circulation in sufficient quantity. Not that he expected all that many of the students to take on more reading than necessary; freshmen rarely did so, but he would encourage them just the same. It seemed that quite a few professors were getting in a last minute request or two, so he took his place at the back of the queue.

After a few moments of standing patiently in line, the professor felt an unpleasant tingling sensation on the back of his neck. Turning his head to the side, he saw that a much shorter figure had arrived in line behind him. The individual in question had short blondish hair and wore, as per usual, an arrogant little smirk. Maggie Walsh. Just what he needed…

"Professor Giles, how nice to see you," she said.

He resisted the urge to answer the way he really wanted, instead giving a clipped but polite response. "Likewise I'm sure, Professor Walsh."

His hopes that the conversation would end there were dashed as she inched forward in line to stand beside him. She crossed her arms over her chest, regarding him with a sort of condescending curiosity. "I hear you've picked up an intro class this semester. Have you finally decided that freshmen students aren't a complete waste of your time?"

He rolled his eyes, staring ahead at the slow moving queue. He spoke for a few moments, making innocuously professorial comments about the difficulty of teaching a large group with such wide ranging experience levels and rates of understanding. All the while his brain, perfectly capable of intense multi-tasking, silently wondered what HR specialist at the university had checked Walsh's references when she was hired. From what he'd learnt through light research and a certain stream of hearsay, the term 'mad scientist' was uniquely applicable in her case.

Giving him a disdainful look, Walsh continued to proselytize. "Perhaps you feel a little bit threatened by the young, professor? A touch of Ephebiphobia, maybe? Personally I find them fascinating. Their minds are so… untainted when they first arrive. So willing to be molded and changed by our teachings."

Professor Giles gave the woman what could certainly pass as a dirty look, narrowing his eyes. "I don't remember signing up for the free psychoanalysis, thank you very much. As for the students, I prefer to build them up rather than spend my time picking their brains apart to see if I can find any interesting tidbits."

Walsh shrugged. "Sometimes taking something apart and putting it back together in a different configuration is the only way to really make it work."

The line had dissipated, leaving only the two of them. Sparing Maggie Walsh one last glance before stepping up to the desk, Giles fired off his parting shot. "I tend to disagree with that sentiment when it is applied to living creatures. Good evening, professor."

Cringing internally, he could feel her eyes boring into his back with suspicion while he spoke in clipped tones to the library clerk. He knew the Initiative were up to something, and Walsh was at the heart of it. If what his sources told him were true, even a demon didn't deserve the kind of treatment doled out in her secret underground laboratories. Until he knew for sure, however, he really would have to be more careful to hold his tongue- blowing his cover was not on the list of things to do this term.

**xxxxx**

Yeah, so the first day had pretty much sucked up to this point. Buffy had barely slept at all, the 'sucking energy' incident in the Pop Culture lecture had been totally demoralizing, she had gotten lost about fifteen times, and her roommate liked Celine Dion. Psych class hadn't been bad. The TA she and Willow had met at the bookstore was cute, for one thing, but it seemed like it could get pretty tough. None of this stuff had been in the orientation packet, and the Slayer was indeed feeling quite _dis_oriented. She was increasingly glad that Willow hadn't chosen to go flying off to MIT or Columbia or one of the dozen other schools that had accepted her. Even though the red-haired girl was annoyingly chipper in the college environment and almost overbearingly excited about academics, Buffy found her presence comforting.

The two girls met again for lunch, picnicking under a shady tree on the green across from the humanities building. Buffy felt herself feeling a bit more calm; she was able to meet Willow without getting lost, and Oz's momentary absence cut down on the amount of loud and enthusiastic visitors they received. Willow munched away happily on some fruit and crackers as Buffy tried to skirt around the issue of why she had decided not to take Images of Pop Culture. "It was weird and boring. And the prof? Yuk. He was _so_ not a guest at the Happiness Hotel. All shout-y and 'me me me' and nobody else gets to talk…" Buffy trailed off, still feeling the sting of the rebuke she had received.

Willow frowned sympathetically. "Wow, Buff. That does sound kinda awful. But hey, you could still sign up for Intro to Western Civ! That's what I've got in that time slot, and the prof is _amazing_. His profile in the syllabus says he went to Oxford and everything! One of Oz's older friends is majoring in history and he says Professor Giles hardly ever teaches undergrads, especially intro level." Lowering her voice, Willow leaned toward Buffy conspiratorially. "Plus, he is _so_ cute. Like, all British and distinguished but just a little rough around the edges. Definite Indiana Jones vibe. At least if Indiana Jones was, you know, English. Which he isn't. But…"

"I think I get it," Buffy smiled indulgently. You could always count on Willow to think that something like a degree from Oxford was the pinnacle of sexiness.

Something in the corner of Willow's eye caught her attention, and she made an odd squeaking noise. Grabbing Buffy's arm, she pointed, in a way that she probably hoped was subtle. She whispered loudly, "Look, that's him over there!"

Buffy looked in the indicated direction and scanned for any immediate signs of distinguished Britishness which, considering her recent experiences with the Watcher's Council, Buffy more or less equated to 'stuffed shirt-y and/or tweed'. Her eyes alighted on a gentleman who could certainly fall into the distinguished category; tweed jacket, spectacles, and an armload of books. It must be who Willow meant, but … "Gee Will, I never knew you were so into old guys. He's got to be like, what, eighty?" Buffy wrinkled her nose.

Looking confused, Willow followed Buffy's line of sight. Giggling, she slapped Buffy's arm. "No, stupid! That's Professor Randolph from the linguistics department. Look at the guy he's talking to!"

Oh. _Ohhh. _Well that was a relief. Wrinkly old Professor Randolph was brightly engaged in conversation with a tall man, probably in his forties. He had a tweed jacket too, but it was slung over his shoulder casually. The man's striped shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbow, tie loose and slightly askew. Buffy had only previously seen suspenders being worn by Merrick, who had been short and somewhat rotund. She decided that they made much better visual sense when viewed in context with the lean frame of Professor Giles. _Nice,_ she couldn't help but think.

"So, what do you say?" Willow grinned, regarding a slightly dazed Buffy beside her.

Buffy tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. "Well I think I'm at least a little civilized, and California is definitely of the west… so why not?"

The girls giggled as Professor Giles disappeared into the distance, Buffy feeling better than she had all day. "Looks like we've still got some time before our next classes… you up for a round of _anywhere but here_?"

"You better believe it!"

**xxxxx**

Professor Giles' finalized list of students topped out at one hundred and fifty one when he received it on the second day of class. He thought nothing of it at first; it was fairly common for two or three students to add or drop during the opening week of school even in a smaller lecture. That being said, the cursory attention he gave to the names on that list came back to bite him when _she_ walked into the auditorium with the Rosenberg girl. It wasn't that he recognized her; he had never seen her before, not even a photograph. He _had_ heard that she might be attending UC Sunnydale, but the report had not been particularly credible. He had read parts of her file a dozen times, but that made little difference. It was more that he could feel her power the moment she entered the room. He found himself gripping the desk for support with one hand, the other holding the class list as he scanned incredulously for the name 'Buffy Summers'. It was there, right at the bottom. Oh bugger, his mysterious extra student was the one and only active Slayer!

There was a certain amount of magic involved in the process of becoming a Watcher, though most of his colleagues carried a marked distaste for the subject. Any Watcher should be trained at least well enough to recognize the presence of vampires as well as that of the Slayer, if they really tried, and as a result of his colorful past Giles was more sensitive than most when it came to such things. The only reason he had even taken notice of Willow Rosenberg in the first place, after all, was that he could sense her undiscovered powers. They were relatively faint, indicating that the girl was barely aware of the magical reservoir she possessed. Giles was something of an expert at sensing these things. Even so, he had never considered that the magic of a Slayer could induce such a violent reaction in him. Her power pulled at him like a riptide, dragging him under and forcing the breath from his body.

Once the magic burning in his blood acclimatized and calmed, he took a moment to really look at her. Students were still swarming through the door, laughing and calling to one another. Papers shuffled and knapsacks thunked as they hit the floor. Inside of the professor's mind, however, it was quiet as he contemplated his subject. Blonde hair, golden skin, features that were delicate but interesting… she was nothing like what he would have expected. The stories he had heard throughout his youth as well as during his Council training had schooled him to think the Slayer would be dark-haired, somewhat severe, imposing, and athletically built. Miss Summers' body appeared slim and unassumingly attractive on first glance, but if one knew what to look for her strength could be seen. This Slayer- already a living legend in her own right- was small but centered, her movements deceptively graceful for one whose body was in itself such a deadly weapon.

The students began to settle down, noticing that the professor was at the front of the room and presumably ready to begin. Miss Rosenberg quickly whispered something to the Slayer, who responded with a brilliant smile. Good lord, to see a smile like that on the face of one who could snap a foe in half with her bare hands… he was so intoxicated by the contrast that he almost failed to notice that she was now regarding him with mild interest. Their eyes met, just briefly. He gave a small smile, hoping that his nerves were up to the task of being under her politely attentive scrutiny three days a week.

Idly he pondered to himself that Wesley Wyndam-Pryce must either be infinitely more powerful or significantly more oblivious than he had originally supposed if the man thought he could exert any real authority over a Slayer with mystical energy of such strength. Her power was suffocating. This contemplation stretched on, to the point where some of the students began to raise their eyebrows in response to his state of inaction. Damn… he was supposed to be teaching a class, wasn't he?

He cleared his throat, straightening his shoulders. "Good morning. We'll be starting a brief study of Ancient Egypt today, beginning with the unification of the Upper and Lower Kingdoms and the importance of the Nile River for the control of trade routes and agriculture. I hope you're all well versed on your early hieroglyphs, because we haven't got time for a review."

Two-thirds of the students looked extremely panicked, including Miss Rosenberg. Miss Summers looked a bit shellshocked herself, and some of the other students were shuffling through their notes or desperately flipping through their syllabi to find where 'knowledge of hieroglyphs' was listed as a prerequisite for the course. Bloody freshmen…

"That last bit was actually a joke, by the way. Now then, shall we begin?"

**xxxxx**

_This is too much to handle. _

_I can't take it anymore._

_No time to say goodbye!_

_-Eddie_

Something was definitely not right here. The room couldn't be described as anything other than depressing. Bare walls, abandoned furniture, and no clues whatsoever as to the personality of the occupant. Or lack thereof… The emptiness and silence were merely enhanced by the cheerful noise drifting in from the hall beyond. Buffy narrowed her eyes as she pulled the tattered paperback out of Eddie's bedside table. _Of Human Bondage_. Also known as Eddie's security blanket. And yet he had abandoned it. Out of all his possessions, this was probably the last one he would forget no matter how quickly he pulled up stakes and left. She had only met Eddie for a few minutes, but this was something she understood. It would be like Buffy skipping town for good and remembering to bring everything except for Mr. Gordo.

On top of that, her Slayer senses were tingling. Some… _thing_ had been in the room, possibly vampire. She had never really been an expert at honing, much to Merrick's chagrin. Looking at the dog-eared book and imagining a sad and lonely Mr. Gordo, Buffy made a decision. She would find out what had happened to Eddie, no matter what she had to do…

…even if it meant she had to go ask _Wesley_ for help.

Sighing, she thanked Eddie's resident advisor and left the barren single room. Next stop, chez Wyndam-Pryce.

**xxxxx**

"Buffy, what on Earth could you possibly need from me at this hour?"

Rolling her eyes, Buffy pushed past a rumpled and pajama-clad Wesley, flipping the lights on as she went. "Hello? Slayer here. Evil never sleeps, and Buffy is ever-vigilant. You, on the other hand? Looks like the only thing you've been 'watching' lately is the back of your eyelids."

"Well, I-" Wesley sputtered indignantly.

"Besides, it's only ten o'clock!"

"Well you know what they say. Early to bed, early to rise…"

"Yeah? And how's that working out for you?"

Wesley scowled sleepily, motioning for Buffy to take a seat on the couch. He slumped into a nearby armchair, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Some of us do have to work in the morning, you realize. Certified accountancy requires a surprisingly alert mind. Now what is this all about?"

Glossing carefully over the details of her disastrous first day of college, Buffy explained to Wesley about how she had gotten lost and met Eddie. Emphasizing the details regarding his favorite book and the strangely impersonal and out of character tone of his hastily scribbled farewell note, the Slayer laid out what she thought was a very suspicious scenario. Wesley, on the other hand, didn't seem quite so impressed.

"So one student has disappeared? I'm sorry, Buffy, but it doesn't sound particularly alarming." Yawning, the Watcher rose out of his armchair and gestured toward the door.

Buffy looked at him disbelievingly. "No. Haven't you been listening? This is _so_ not Eddie. He wasn't someone who was about to give up, he just having a little trouble adjusting. Believe me, I know. There's definitely some funky evil going on here. There could even be a gang of vamps working the campus! We need to research!"

Releasing a small snorting sound, Wesley shook his head. "Research? Research _what_ exactly? The fact that some people just aren't cut out for college life, or the physics of how easy it was for this boy to pack his things and leave?" Opening the door, the Watcher waited none too patiently for Buffy to exit through it.

"But-" Buffy sputtered, hardly able to believe she was being given the brush off by _Wesley_ of all people.

"But nothing. You are the Slayer. You certainly have many more important things to worry about than some milquetoast teenage boy who probably just ran home to his mum."

"I just think we should-"

"_Goodnight_, Buffy."

And that was that. She stood on the doorstep of Wesley's apartment, fists clenched. Setting her jaw, Buffy strode away quickly. Fine. He was right, after all. She was the Slayer. It wasn't like she needed help from any stupid wanna-be Watcher anyway. She would just go find Eddie by herself. Maybe if she started looking near the place where they'd met last night she might find something.

Briefly, she wondered what Wesley had meant about the milk and toast. They were both readily available through the cafeteria meal plan, so it was highly unlikely that Eddie would have disappeared to a diner, if that was what he was suggesting. God, sometimes Watchers made no sense…

**xxxxx**

Midnight on a college campus was an infuriating thing, at least as far as Rupert Giles was concerned. The people of Sunnydale constantly proved and reproved their ignorance of the Hellmouth by walking along happily at all hours of the night, and the campus was no different. Strike that; it _was_ different, in the sense that the students were even more vulnerable and/or intoxicated than the average wandering citizen.

The liveliness of the UC campus made stealth a bit more difficult, although the population's apparent dedication to total obliviousness was some consolation. It was constantly baffling to the professor that heavily armed commandos, half a dozen of whom he was surreptitiously observing at this very moment, passed unnoticed through well-trafficked areas on a regular basis. Their training appeared to consist of 'nobody can see us in the bushes', so tracking them was anything but difficult. Tonight was no different; so far they had tranquillized one entirely harmless demon, practically tripping over each other for the privilege of firing the dart gun.

There would be a shift change for the soldiers soon, and all the truly dangerous vampires and demons in the area undoubtedly knew when it happened. Since nothing of interest seemed to be transpiring, the professor decided to call it a night and head for home before the real trouble surfaced. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he casually stepped out from his hiding place and began to make his way down the tree-lined pavement. His home was just beyond the quieter edge of campus, with a nearby path leading right to his back door through the slightly overgrown garden.

He found himself contemplating a cup of tea as he walked along the dimly lit track, although monitoring the dunderheaded Initiative operatives had given him a rather unhealthy predisposition toward Scotch of late. Yes, tea would be better. He could drink it and attempt to figure out how he was going to make a lecture hall full of freshmen understand the importance of the Classical Greek philosophers. If he survived their essays on Egypt without his brains melting out his ears, at any rate…

Nearing a fork in the path, Giles paused. He could hear a disturbance on the other side of an adjacent stand of trees. His instinct was to conceal himself or at the very least to take up a defensive position, because he sensed a barely controlled strength in whatever was approaching. There wasn't time to act, however, as a flailing shape came crashing onto the path. Half running, half stumbling, the pink and black blur collided with his torso, sending him sprawling onto the pavement.

"Ow," muttered a pained feminine voice.

Looking to his left, he realized that the creature that had bowled him over was a girl. The eyes of his assailant widened in recognition, most likely a mirror of his own. She looked much worse for the wear, gazing back at him with a confused expression.

Sitting up, it occurred to him that she had no idea who he was- apart from being a history professor- or what he knew. He found it ironic that both of them, at this moment, were probably more concerned with concocting a false story with which to trick each other than anything else. It would probably be best for his true identity to remain secret for the time being, but she was obviously in some distress.

Thus it was that Professor Rupert Giles stood and offered a hand to his fallen student. "Miss… Summers, isn't it?" Affecting ignorance was hard for him, but he did his best to sound as confused as possible.

She nodded, reaching out shakily and sliding her small hand into his. She winced as he pulled her to her feet, and he noticed that she was cradling her left arm as though she were in quite a bit of pain.

"Dear Lord, are you alright?"

**xxxxx**

That's it for part one. A few pertinent notes for this installment:

1. Ephebiphobia: Fear of youth; inaccurate, exaggerated and sensational characterization of young people.

2. Happiness Hotel: The dilapidated London hotel visited by Muppets in '_The Great Muppet Caper'_.

3. 'Evil never sleeps, and Buffy is ever-vigilant.': Paraphrased from _Good Omens_ by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. Original quote: 'Evil never sleeps, and virtue is ever-vigilant.'

4. Characterization of Wesley: Yes, I know he's completely horrendous here. This is AU, however, and needs to be considered in the context of a Giles-free season 3. Which clearly leaves gaping plot holes all over the place, but when we write AU we have to pick and choose, don't we? :P I promise he will get better in later installments.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **The Ivory Tower: Part 2**  
>Author: <strong>mischiefmagnet**  
>Rating: <strong> Yep… still T. Let the UST fest continue!**  
>Pairing: <strong>Indicators of future Giles/Buffy**  
>Fic Summary: <strong>An AU season 4 scenario. What if Giles was never sent to be Buffy's Watcher? Things get interesting at UC Sunnydale when Buffy meets a handsome history professor who is English, variably tweedy, and happens to have a pocket full of stakes. A stand-alone retooling of 'The Freshman', with other installments hopefully to follow.**  
>Word Count: <strong>Whole fic is around 15,000**  
>Disclaimer: <strong>Standard disclaimers apply. Not mine, just playing. Will give back when finished (maybe).**  
>Spoilers: <strong>Definite spoilers for everything up to the beginning of season 4, despite the AU nature of the story.**  
>Notes: <strong>There are some literary/pop culture/historical references in this fic, which I will explain in notes at the end for those who are at all interested. Also some info on characterizations. This fic contains a few instances of borrowed/slightly altered dialogue from S4 x 01, 'The Freshman'.

**xxxxx**

Well, didn't this just take the cake. Not only had Buffy gotten her ass handed to her and her shoulder dislocated by some 80's night vamperella, she had also managed to put the tackle on an extremely handsome and perplexed history professor. What was Willow going to say about _this_ one? Well, at least she didn't appear to have damaged him… he was getting up, tall and surprisingly solid-looking body unfolding slowly.

"Dear Lord, are you alright?"

Her wrist and shoulder prickled with sharp pain as Professor Giles chivalrously assisted her. He was regarding her with concern in his- wow- stunningly green eyes, and by this point he was probably wondering whether her vocal chords were actually functional or if he should try sign language or smoke signals in order to get through to her. He was probably brainy enough to know both. "Umm… I'm okay, professor." She hissed as she tried to roll her shoulder. "I mean, I've been better, but-"

"It looks like your shoulder is dislocated. I- Perhaps I could make a sling out of my jacket until we can get you some medical attention? I'm sure campus security could take you to the hospital-"

Buffy managed a smile, shaking her head. Her brain was telling her to hold up her hand dismissively, but she suddenly realized that it was still cradled within his larger one. It tingled pleasantly. As her fingers brushed against his palm he finally seemed to notice their joined hands as well, coloring slightly as they broke apart. Rubbing the back of his neck, he regarded her expectantly.

"Oh, no. Seriously, I'm fine." Her voice was almost convincing, but her arm hung limply at her side and a purple bruise was quickly forming on her cheekbone.

Shrugging out of the tweed jacket, his tall form stepped closer. "Now really, I must insist." He folded the garment in half, turning it sideways and arranging the arms so that they could be tied together once the makeshift sling cradled her arm. As he was about to reach for her injured extremity three objects fell out of the pocket of his jacket, clattering noisily onto the asphalt. The tinkle of glass was joined by the distinctive cadence of wood and the rustle of paper.

Looking down, Buffy felt her heart jump into her throat as she discovered the identity of the items. A very small notepad, a bottle of holy water and… a very pointy stick, expertly sharpened.

What the hell was her history professor doing with a stake? He had gone stock still, peering down at the items as though grasping for a way to explain away their presence or perhaps pretending he had never seen them before. The Slayer, in spite of her pain, managed to cross her arms over her chest and raise an eyebrow. English, tweedy, and out in the middle of the night with a pocket full of anti-vamp supplies? In Buffy's experience this generally only meant one thing.

They stared at each other, neither initially willing to tip their hand. The air between them was tense, thick with a mutual cloud of secrets. The penetrating green eyes were not unpleasant to wrestle gazes with, but Buffy didn't have the patience for a lengthy stalemate. She cleared her throat. "So… is that a stake in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

A slight twitch of an eyebrow and a wry smile quirking at the corner of the mouth were his only reaction to Buffy's flippant comment. He knew when he was beaten, but he did still have his dignity after all. 'Professor' Giles sighed, bending to retrieve the fallen items. "Errr, well then. My flat is just a bit further along this path. Will you allow me the honor of tending to your injuries?"

She was about to open her mouth. She wanted to say no, to yell at him and ask why she couldn't go anywhere without the Council haunting her every move like some kind of... creepy stalker. He interrupted her, though, and his words held such respectful sincerity that she felt her anger draining away.

"I promise to explain myself," he said. His expression was serious, but his eyes were kind and steady. Buffy conveyed her agreement with a nod as her feet moved of their own accord. "After all, it's not every night that one meets a Slayer." He twirled the stake, deftly slipping it back into the jacket pocket as they turned onto the narrow garden path.

Shocked at his sudden candor, Buffy stared at his broad back as he led her through the yard. What was he doing here, in Sunnydale? Had he been sent here to keep an eye on her? She already had a Watcher… well, technically. Perhaps her assumptions were incorrect and he wasn't from the Council at all? Shaking her head, Buffy gripped her injured arm and followed Professor Giles through the wild and unkempt back garden. An overgrown trellis dominated the side of the shed, flowers and vines mingling haphazardly.

Twice in two days this man had surprised her. The Slayer's jumbled thoughts turned over and over, remembering in fragments what had happened the last time she met a stranger who was so mysterious and evasively helpful. _And good-looking,_ her traitorous mind added. Fortunately she was far too curious about the tall Englishman to allow thoughts of Angel to overwhelm her again.

He unlocked the door and Buffy followed him cautiously, noticing his care in making no direct gesture of invitation. She was at once eager and frightened to find out more about her suddenly enigmatic professor. Her train of wild conjecture was derailed by the suddenly bright kitchen and a polite inquiry.

"I'll just run and get the first aid kit. Would you care for some tea?"

**xxxxx**

Steam snaked out of the blue and white china teapot, sending out comforting wisps of bergamot and Moroccan mint. They had a stabilizing effect on Giles as he concentrated on his task, gingerly supporting the Slayer's forearm as he bound her injured wrist. Buffy Summers was perched on a stool in front of his kitchen island, looking battered but calm. The soft light in the room revealed more cuts and scrapes than he had originally noticed, though most were essentially superficial. It certainly had been an interesting day, beginning with her appearance in his class and culminating in this unexpected encounter. He hadn't intended for her to know about him. Not yet. He had his assignment, she had her Watcher, and the Council saw no compelling reason for their business to mix. Apparently the universe had other ideas, however.

She was peering at him, studying his face with quiet attention. Apparently disinterested in his application of first aid, she showed no sign that he was causing her further pain. Her curiosity intrigued him, and was mirrored by his own. He allowed himself the momentary luxury of looking into her eyes- were they grey, green, hazel? He found that her intense focus made him feel self-conscious. Blimey, he was probably even blushing. Carefully, he put the final touches on the binding for her wrist, securing it with a small square of medical tape.

Wiggling her fingers, the Slayer tested the wrapping. Satisfied with his work, she gifted Giles with a small smile. "Thanks."

He answered with a brief grin of his own before returning his attention to the first aid box, looking for antiseptic wipes to tend the cuts on her face. Best to get the easy bits out of the way first, before dealing with her dislocated shoulder.

"So, how long have you been a Watcher? I hear the pay's great but the benefits kinda…suck."

Apparently she'd had enough of the silent tension hovering between them, and decided to cut right to the chase. He paused in his rummaging, mildly surprised by her direct question. He plucked the glasses off of his face, polishing them deliberately for several moments before replacing them. "Interesting choice of words. Gallows humor?" He leaned on the counter, bracing his hands on either side of the first aid kit as he awaited her reply.

"Nah. Not so much with the Marie Antoinette. More like a… Slayer water-cooler joke."

"Marie Antoinette wasn't hanged, she was executed by guillotine." His eyes spotted the antiseptic wipes under a roll of gauze, and he turned his attention to plucking the packets out of the metal box.

"Off with her head, huh? I forgot I'm dealing with history guy. I guess the professor bit isn't a total act."

Ripping open the first antiseptic packet, he looked to her for permission to tend her face. She nodded slightly, watching his hands. "I assure you, my qualifications are in order." The Slayer's eyebrow twitched slightly as he cleaned her largest scrape. "How did you know I was a Watcher? Did you… sense me?" His tone was inquisitive, loitering around the edges of intellectual curiosity.

A slightly puzzled expression came over her features, and she bit her lip thoughtfully. "Sense? You mean like _fashion_ sense? 'Cos I guess the tweed _was_ kind of a giveaway. Watchers don't leave home without it."

He chuckled slightly, trying to ignore the softness of her cheek as his fingers made incidental contact with her skin. "That, errr, wasn't what I was referring to, exactly. Surely Merrick taught you how to sense a Watcher's magic?"

The Slayer's eyes went wide at the mention of her former Watcher. "Merrick? You knew him?"

Dabbing at some of the smaller scrapes, he wondered if he might be revealing too much. "I did."

"How well?" she blurted, hardly letting the response leave his lip before exclaiming. "I mean, I…" She gave an embarrassed laugh, looking down at her bound wrist. "Sorry. Did you know him well?"

With her cuts all taken care of, Giles allowed himself to relax onto the other stool. He reached for the pot of tea, silently inviting her to join him. She pushed her empty teacup forward. He poured the tea, gathering his thoughts. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to tell her- Merrick had been her Watcher, after all. "I knew him quite well, for a time. I trained with him when I was, well, quite a bit younger than I am now." He sipped his tea, letting the warmth spread down his throat and into his stomach. "He taught me many things, both during our acquaintance and afterwards through his diaries. We also exchanged the occasional letter over the years."

She looked at him with awe. "Diaries? You mean those books that he used to write in all the time? You've seen them?"

"Yes, they were returned to the Council after Merrick's, ummm, unfortunate demise. An active Watcher's diaries are generally studied quite meticulously after his passing, and I was privileged to examine them, once…" He could see her eyes filling with tears, cursing his clinical description of the situation. "He was a good man. I am sorry you lost him."

Releasing a ragged sigh, she kept the tears at bay. "Wesley never talks about him. I don't think they knew each other, at least not well. They're certainly nothing alike." The irritated frown on her face caused him unaccountably to smile as he thought of the fierce warrior before him trying to get along with someone as incurably pedantic as Wyndam-Pryce. "I bet you know Wes too, huh? You guys are all like… members of a big spooky country club or something."

"Yes, I'm afraid I do know Wesley. Though I don't believe he is aware of my presence here, and I would prefer to keep it that way." Giles crossed his arms, unable to resist a small grin as his sarcastic response made her beam. Her smile lit up the room like sunshine.

The Slayer leaned forward, carefully sniffing her cup of tea before she chanced a sip. "So what are you doing in Sunnydale?"

Leaning back, he decided to keep his answer simple. He had already told her more than he had intended. He shrugged. "Watching."

She turned her attention away from the tea, glaring at him. "Cryptic much? I've dealt with guys like you before and it usually ends up spelling big trouble for Buffy. You wanna give me a little bit more to go on?"

As interested as he was in her statement about others like him, he put a lid on his desire to know more. "I assure you, if I discover anything significant I shall make sure you receive the necessary information."

"Thanks for the fuzzy and slightly ominous guarantee. If I'm not satisfied, do I get my money back?"

He smiled mildly back at her as an answer, taking in her flushed cheeks and slightly narrowed eyes. She was angry, and he couldn't really blame her. Until he had anything to tell, however, it was best to keep the details of his assignment under wraps.

Standing, Giles motioned for her to do the same. "We should take care of your shoulder." He walked around to stand directly behind her, noticing how her back tensed at his presence. She jumped, startled, as his hand touched her shoulder. "I won't lie. This is going to be painful, but once the shoulder is re-located your range of motion will return very quickly."

She appeared to relax slightly, steadying under his grip. "Okay."

With his other hand he grasped her upper arm, pulling it slightly outward and lining the limb up to get the best possible leverage. His query was softly spoken, breath tickling the shell of her ear. "Ready?"

Nodding, she inhaled unevenly. Wanting to make her discomfort as brief as possible, Giles wrenched her arm upward and pushed the ball of her shoulder down and in. She released a small yelp as the limb popped back into place, slumping against him in pain-drenched relief.

For several moments they were still and silent. His hand was gently holding her arm as he braced himself against the counter for support, her upper back and tousled blonde head leaning against his chest. Gradually, her breathing began to calm, the pressure of her head just above his heart lessening as she steadied. He remained still, not wanting to startle her with any quick moves to release her. Absently, he slid his hand down her arm, cupping her elbow supportively.

Once she recovered enough to realize the strange intimacy of their position, the Slayer sprang away from him, looking embarrassed. He himself was alarmed by the way his body thrilled at the smell of her hair, how her skin felt so warm and vital. Had it really been _that_ long since he'd been this close to a woman? Alarm bells rang in the rational part of his mind while the other parts were busy contemplating how wonderful she felt. As was usual for Giles, rationality managed to win out by a narrow margin. He quickly took a different tack, hoping to distract them both from the moment of indiscretion. "If you don't mind my asking, how did you receive these injuries?"

Straightening, the Slayer looked as though she had been snapped out of a trance. "Oh! It was Sunday…" She trailed off, stretching her limbs and rubbing her repaired shoulder.

Giles' eyebrows crinkled. "Sunday? But today is Friday…"

"I guess I should start from the beginning, before this starts sounding like some kind of... Smiths song," Buffy cringed.

**xxxxx**

Half an hour later, Buffy was on her third cup of tea and had finally finished relating her story about Eddie and the vampire gang to the newly discovered Watcher. She left out not a single detail; she was just happy that someone was finally listening to her, unlike Wesley who might as well have told her to jump off a bridge. His expression was thoughtful as he digested the information, face leaning against his hand. "Well, the evidence is certainly compelling. And you think there may have been other victims on campus?"

Buffy shrugged. "That's the problem- I don't know. Eddie could be the first, the last, the only… I wish I had found out more, but she had me cold. I can't believe I ran away." Shaking her head, Buffy looked down. What would he think of her? She was supposed to be the Slayer, and couldn't even handle a one-on-one battle with a skanky Cyndi Lauper with fangs.

"You were probably right to retreat in this case. They had you surrounded. If you had taken out the leader, the others may not have been so willing to stand by and watch."

He patted her hand, and she wondered how she could already feel so comfortable with him, here in his home. He had given her more care and support in the past hour than she had managed to squeeze out of Wesley in nine excruciating months. "I guess so."

Straightening his back, he regarded her seriously. "Sometimes strategy is imperative when you can't achieve immediate victory. With time and research, you may be able to help others. You are the Slayer, yes, but that doesn't mean that slaying is your only duty."

"Thanks for the reminder. You should try telling that to Wesley sometime!"

"If he doesn't know it already, he's more of a pillock than I thought."

"Just call him Mr. Pillock, then." Buffy tilted her head, wondering why Professor Giles had suddenly turned so pink. "Whatever that means."

He cleared his throat. "Never mind. It's nearly gone half past four, you had better be getting back."

"Damn, is it that late already? Good thing there's no class on Saturdays. I think I could use some R and R. Why do I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a long day even _without _double Psych to look forward to?" She sighed, standing up and rolling her neck in a circle.

"Would you like me to drive you? The vampires could still be out there." They walked to the door together.

She flashed him a grateful smile. "Nah. Sun will be coming up in less than an hour. They're probably seeking cover by now. Besides, I'm already pretty well healed up. Your patch job worked wonders."

Examining the area of her face where the most cuts and bruises had been, he looked impressed. The worst were still visible, but fading. "Slayer healing, how fascinating." He reached out a hand as if to touch the spot where the biggest gash still showed, drawing back at the last moment. He looked down briefly, giving her an apologetic look. "Sorry."

"It's cool. Umm… thanks for fixing me up."

"It was no trouble. Please, feel free to come to me anytime you need assistance. If I come across any pertinent information I'll be in touch." He opened the door for her, leaning against the frame as she passed.

Feeling the warmth radiating from his sturdy form as she exited, Buffy shivered involuntarily. Briefly she remembered what it had been like to lean against him, the strength she had felt in his chest and arms as he fixed her shoulder. Definitely of the manly. "Okay. It's been fun."

"Indeed. Oh, and Miss Summers?"

She looked back, meeting his steady green gaze. "Call me Buffy."

"Buffy… your psychology professor, Maggie Walsh? That woman isn't what she seems. I would advise that you use caution around her."

Raising an eyebrow at his unexpected remark, Buffy gave an agreeing nod. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks again."

"Goodnight."

Tired mind reeling from all the new information she had absorbed in the past few hours, Buffy broke into a jog upon reaching the sidewalk. Professor Giles was a Watcher who had known Merrick. She wondered what he could have learned from Merrick's diaries, what he must know about her. And hadn't he said something about Watchers and magic? They would _so_ have to pick back up with that thread of the conversation sometime. And his warning about Professor Walsh… it was just one mystery after another.

When she reached Stevenson Hall Buffy let herself into her dorm room as quietly as possible, hoping that she wouldn't disturb Kathy's snores. Her roommate appeared to be out like a light, so the Slayer crossed the room and proceeded to snuggle gingerly beneath her cream and purple floral comforter. Her shoulder was still a bit sore, but the professor had done a good job. It should be fully healed after a few hours' rest. Buffy fell asleep quickly, exhausted, subconscious mind wrapped in remnants of the weirdly satisfying hum that had overtaken her body as a certain Englishman healed and supported her…

**xxxxx**

The next day when he returned home from his Saturday morning office hours, Giles found an unmarked envelope slipped under his door. It was held closed with a wax medallion bearing an official Council stamp. He pried off the seal as he sat down at the desk, slicing expertly beneath the still-soft red wax. The contents of the envelope were curious. There was no direct communication for him, just a document listing certain enquiries made with the United States Immigration and Naturalization Service with regards to his credentials and employment eligibility. The Council may not have been particularly tech savvy, but they were natural bureaucrats and experts at safeguarding their information. This envelope was their way of telling him that someone was showing an unhealthy interest. His money was on Professor Walsh.

He thought he had been careful, especially while speaking directly with the woman. Sometimes, however, his tendency toward sarcasm could not be kept at bay. He had probably given her too much to wonder about at their last meeting in the library- a person who liked to dissect things as much as she did would scarcely be able to resist.

There was no cause for alarm; even the Initiative wouldn't find any type of paper trail to identify him as a Watcher. As far as he had been able to tell, the Initiative, and the U.S. government by extension, hadn't reached that level of awareness yet concerning the existence of the Slayer or the Council. His information would add up plain on the page for Maggie Walsh to see, and there would be nothing more to it…

…unless the Slayer had reported to Wesley and he had shown an interest. That could complicate matters, although he doubted the man could move so quickly. He almost wished there were classes today, so that he could ask her.

He was also disappointed that he wouldn't have the opportunity to check on her injuries. After all, how could he pass up a chance to see Slayer healing in action? It was pure curiosity, totally academic. Nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that he'd been thinking about her all day, almost to the point of distraction. As he rummaged for sandwich ingredients Giles wondered whether it had anything to do with the magic, the call in his blood, telling him to protect and defend the Slayer.

Watchers in general never thought much about the ramifications of the rituals and other magically imbued trials they endured as they became official Council instruments. Most would never even come close to meeting a Slayer, their magics remaining dormant and unheeded. For someone like Giles who had dealt with magic in the past, however, it was a bit more complicated. Add a Slayer to the mix and he couldn't help but notice the sparks that crackled relentlessly in the depths of his abdomen.

Loosening his tie, Giles stared at the slices of whole wheat bread. He held out little hope that a turkey sandwich would calm the flutters, but even a worried Watcher needed to eat.

**xxxxx**

_This is all just too_

_much for me. I have_

_decided to take off._

_Sorry I didn't have_

_time to say goodbye but_

_I need to be by myself._

_Good luck this year. _

_-Buffy_

Quite honestly she wasn't sure which was worse; her bedroom at home, or the one at Stevenson hall. The first was already full of packing crates less than a week after she had moved out. The other? Well, her dorm room was now the spitting image of Eddie's, made more stark and unsettling by the still-inhabited appearance of her roommate's half of the space. The bedroom at home had her mother, who kept repeating the phrase, "I didn't think you'd be back so soon" like Buffy was some sort of freak for being there. On the bare mattress in the dorm room, there was the note- and that was the straw that broke the Slayer's back.

Buffy hated everything about that note. She hated the words, she hated the message, and she hated the way it made her feel when she read it. It made her feel small, and she hated _herself_ for actually agreeing with some of the things that were written on that paper. She was overwhelmed, yes. Did she feel like running away? Probably. But she wasn't going to. She had done the splitsville thing once, and it had been nothing but heartache for herself or anybody else. The further away she tried to get from her past, her friends, her mistakes… the more she tried to escape them, the more they seemed to stay on her mind.

Right now, watching the sunset through the blinds on her window, what she really wished she could do was to go back. Back to a time when she was happier, when she had Merrick and her friends beside her, when her mom hadn't been using her room as extra closet space. Things had changed so much so fast, and all her old comfort zones had fallen off the map. Home with mom was awkward. The high school and its strangely cozy library were toast. Her Watcher was busy with his adding machine. The mansion meant thoughts of Angel and a dozen other types of badness, and that was _so_ not where she wanted her head to be right now. Wasn't there anyplace left in Sunnydale where she could clear her thoughts and just be Buffy again?

Oh. Well, there _was_ that one place…

**xxxxx**

The afternoon had been a restless one for Giles. He had tried to read, busied himself with cleaning the house, and even attempted to distract himself with television. That had been somewhat of a failure; his pent up energy and his buzzing, tingling insides demanded some sort of physical activity. Thus he had spent the past hour or so doing what any Californian, transplant or otherwise, would do- he jogged, running aimlessly until sunset faded into the purple glow of evening.

Letting himself back into the flat, he took several deep breaths and gave his limbs a final stretch. The run had done its job, and Giles felt like he might finally be able to sit down and do something productive. Failing that, he could always head back out into the darkening night and see what the Initiative were up to. Some of the weekend operations were quite a bit more complex, since the organization's members weren't as busy maintaining their civilian cover.

First things first, though. He toed off his running shoes and crossed the room, peeling off his sweat-dampened white t-shirt as he went. A shower was most certainly the first order of business. Perhaps the steam would further clear his mind and help him decide on a course of action.

**xxxxx**

**"…**when it's dark and I'm all alone and I'm scared or freaked out or whatever, I always think, 'What would Buffy do?' You're my hero."

At first she thought that going to The Bronze had been a huge mistake. Visions of Angel from behind Buffy's eyelids seemed to pop out all over the dimly lit space, and the sameness of everything just made her feel even more insignificant than she had to begin with. Thank God for Xander, and the million ways that his earnestly delivered pep talk full of poorly remembered movie quotes was exactly what she needed in this moment. She realized how much she had missed her dark-haired friend, and found that his words built her up tremendously- even enough to ignore his lighthearted comment concerning what she may or may not be wearing.

Breaking into the newspaper office had seemed perfectly reasonable and oddly satisfying after that. Buffy was so relieved that she was beginning to feel like herself again, she was hardly even nervous about it. What had all the Slayers who came before her done without friends like Xander to give them that little boost when they needed it? Slayers weren't supposed to have an entourage, but it had certainly worked for Buffy. She was still here, after all. And Xander was right- she couldn't let one snarky vamp break her. She was still Buffy, definitely not Betty Louise or anybody else, and this Slayer was ready to kick some ass.

The research was fruitful after a fairly short time, largely due to the effectiveness of their teamwork. Xander folded the old newspaper in half and sandwiched it beneath his arm. "So, Psi Theta it is. Who would have thought the vamps would start their own fraternity? Guess they have more school spirit than we knew." Xander shrugged. "Oh well. It's all Greek to me. You ready?"

Buffy rolled her eyes at Xander's cheesy pun and turned her attention back to the map, noticing the location of the abandoned frat house near the farthest edge of campus. She tilted her blonde head, contemplating for a moment. It occurred to her that she had a new acquaintance in that part of town who was British and tweedy, with pockets full of stakes that he might be willing to share. The vamps had stolen her weapons chest, and he _had_ told her to come back any time she needed him, right? She turned to Xander, her changeable gaze now steely with resolve.

"Yeah, I'm ready. Just need to make one stop on the way."

**xxxxx**

Notes for this chapter:

1. Fifty million bonus points to anyone who can guess what tea Giles is serving when Buffy visits his flat…

2. Marie Antoinette was beheaded on 16 October, 1793.

3. The 'Smiths song' Buffy mentions is actually _Every Day is Like Sunday_ by Morrissey. At least she was close!


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **The Ivory Tower: Part 3**  
>Author: <strong>mischiefmagnet**  
>Rating: <strong> Say it with me… T.**  
>Pairing: <strong>Indicators of future Giles/Buffy**  
>Fic Summary: <strong>An AU season 4 scenario. What if Giles was never sent to be Buffy's Watcher? Things get interesting at UC Sunnydale when Buffy meets a handsome history professor who is English, variably tweedy, and happens to have a pocket full of stakes. A stand-alone retooling of 'The Freshman', with other installments hopefully to follow.**  
>Word Count: <strong>Entire fic around 15,000**  
>Disclaimer: <strong>Standard disclaimers apply. Not mine, just playing. Will give back when finished (maybe).**  
>Spoilers: <strong>Definite spoilers for everything up to the beginning of season 4, despite the AU nature of the story.**  
>Notes: <strong>There are some literary/pop culture/historical references in this fic, which I will explain in notes at the end for those who are at all interested. Also some info on characterizations. This fic contains a few instances of borrowed/slightly altered dialogue from S4 x 01, 'The Freshman'.

**xxxxx**

Xander and Buffy waited at the front door of Professor Giles' apartment, having knocked sharply just moments ago. Buffy found herself feeling unaccountably nervous at the prospect of seeing the professor again; everything had gone topsy-turvy in the past 24 hours, and she hadn't even had the benefit of seeing him in an ordinary classroom setting during that time. Maybe if she had, her perception of him would have normalized at least enough to calm the butterflies that were flapping in her stomach.

Having been given merely the barest bones of an explanation that they 'needed to make a stop', Xander glanced at Buffy out of the corner of his eye as they waited. "So what are we doing here, exactly? Seems like a pretty kooky hour to be making social calls."

Knocking once more, three times in quick succession, Buffy turned her neck. "Hopefully getting some backup."

"Way to go, Buff! Made some new college buds already?"

She smiled tightly, hearing movement inside the apartment. "Something like that."

It was at that moment that the door swung open to reveal Buffy's history professor- rumpled, slightly damp, wrapped in a dark-colored bathrobe, and missing his glasses. "Yes, what can I- Miss Summers?"

"It's Buffy, remember?"

"Yes, of course. Buffy. Errr, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

_Pleasure is right_, she thought to herself. She was also tempted with answers such as _nice legs_ and _yummy_. Recovering her senses with a quick shake of the head, she managed to compose an answer of sorts. "Would you believe we just happened to be in the neighborhood?"

The three of them took it in turns to look awkwardly at each other for a few moments as Buffy and Xander stood on the doorstep. Buffy didn't really know what else to say under such bizarre circumstances, and waited for Professor Giles to say or do something. Inviting them inside might be a start, unless… "Oh God. Is this a bad time? We could really use your help, but if you're busy, like if you have company or something…?"

Slayer and Watcher stared keenly at one another. Giles' face began to color as the meaning of Buffy's line of questioning became apparent. "Umm, no, no… not at all. Please, do come in."

"Thanks."

Xander was looking bewildered as Buffy pulled him along by the arm, entering the apartment as the professor stepped aside. "Buff?"

"Yeah?"

He waved his arms demonstratively. "I know college is kinda wild and crazy, but since when did backup include a half-naked English guy?"

Giles goggled, briefly looking down at himself.

Buffy grinned. "I'm sure he can put on some tweed, Xand, if it'll make you feel more at home."

Xander looked appraisingly at Giles taking in the straight posture, crossed arms, and mildly disapproving expression. Slowly, a smile made its way onto the younger man's face. His teeth gleamed happily. "Oh, I get it! Watcher, huh? Well why didn't you say so!"

**xxxxx**

Five minutes later Giles descended to his living room, dressed comfortably in well-worn jeans, sturdy shoes, and a green henley shirt. Not a bit of tweed in sight, which was hopefully very much to Xander's disappointment. His guests were occupying the couch, so Giles deposited himself in the leather armchair. His glasses were still strewn on the desk and he probably needed a shave, but those things didn't seem important right now. He observed the pair patiently, running a hand over his jaw. They had been talking quietly as he came down the stairs. Considering them, he spoke. "I believe I heard you say something about backup. Has something happened?"

Buffy pulled one leg beneath her as she perched on the couch, looking much more centered and confident than she had when they'd last met. "You could say that. Remember that gang of vamps that had my number last night?"

He gave a small nod, leaning forward with his forearms braced atop his knees.

"Well, they came back and snatched all my belongings. Just like they did to Eddie," she frowned, momentarily lost in thought. "Anyway… I decided I don't like people messing with my stuff, so we went into research mode. Pretty sure we found their hideout."

"That was quick work. Well done."

Looking pleased, Buffy gestured to her companion. "It was mostly down to Xander. He was the one who picked up the trail."

Giles quirked an eyebrow, peering at the younger man. "Ah, yes. Xander…"

The boy snapped to attention, straightening. "Sorry- guess we sort of skipped out on the introductions. Xander Harris. I'm one of Buffy's little helpers." He gave a sarcastic salute.

"Rupert Giles," the Watcher supplied.

"Xander's great with the research," Buffy intoned, "and, you know, the occasional Slayer life-saving."

Watching as the two looked at each other fondly, Giles indulged his curiosity. They seemed to share a closeness, but… He scrutinized their body language. Closeness, yes, but not intimacy. There was nothing… sexual in their apparent comfort level. He found himself feeling strangely relieved at that fact, an instinct he studiously ignored. "I see. This is one of the civilians that assists you? Merrick's diaries made some mention of this, as did your Council file."

"What do you know, I'm famous! Maybe someday I'll even have my _own_ file in the shady Watcher filing cabinet." Xander's eyes glinted with mischief.

Buffy smiled absently, seemingly focused on Giles. "Keep dreaming, Xand. Anyway, Sunday and her cronies kind of stole my weapons chest. Since your place was on the way I thought maybe you could lend us a few stakes, or a crossbow-"

"-Maybe a cup of sugar…" Xander groaned as Buffy's elbow jabbed into his ribs.

Giles was surprised to find himself smiling internally at their antics. Perhaps the Council was wrong; perhaps the Slayer's companions gave her strength, kept her grounded. It was obvious that she exerted a certain amount of authority over her friend, but in a mutually agreeable sense.

"I don't have much, just a few stakes and one sword. My work here is somewhat… delicate and covert, so most of my weapons are in storage." He tilted his head, eyeing her with inquiry. "Have you informed Wesley of these developments?"

Xander interjected, "Why would we need to do that? It's not like we're storming the beaches of their vampy Normandy here. Just a bit of reconnaissance."

A quizzical pout formed on the Slayer's face. "Isn't that where we all sculpt and paint and stuff?"

Giles shared a bemused look with the younger man. One of them would have to correct her, surely. Since he was the history professor in this equation, he supposed the responsibility fell to him. "I believe you may be thinking of the Renaissance."

She frowned, blushing slightly. "Oh. Oops."

Shifting in his seat, Xander leaned forward conspiratorially. "If you like the Buffster's Renaissance, you should check out her take on the Enlightenment. Pretty sure it involves decapitation."

Buffy's jaw dropped, indignant with shock.

Surprised and amused by the younger man's burst of intelligent humour, Giles could not resist the opportunity to add a jibe of his own. "Montesquieu would be spinning in his grave."

Xander's wide smile disappeared abruptly. "Monty _who_?"

The Watcher cleared his throat. "Nevermind." The three were still for a few moments, frowning. Each was feeling just a little bit put out, for a wide variety of reasons, by the turn their conversation had taken. Rising from his chair, Giles made a move to diffuse the strangely tense situation. "I'll just run and get the weapons, shall I?"

**xxxxx**

The Psi Theta fraternity house had obviously been abandoned for some time. The exterior of the gray stone building was dilapidated, covered over with rotted boards, wheat-pasted fliers and warnings. Graffiti marred the message of the notices against trespassing, while weed-strewn grasses grew wild at the corners of the masonry. Somehow, the three companions were able to find a foothold in the remains of a rusted-out ladder to climb up to a ledge, mercifully gargoyle-free. Buffy took up an acrobatic vantage, peering into the large skylight. Huffing in annoyance, the Slayer watched as the bleached-blonde vampire and her companions rummaged through her things.

"My skirt? There's no way that's ever going to fit her!" Buffy looked to Xander, thunderous. "We have to kill them."

Xander's expression was wary. "We're not exactly bursting at the seams with weapons here, Buff."

Making a disapproving sound, Buffy scanned the room below. Unsatisfied with her findings, she retreated from the window and spoke to Xander and Giles in a controlled voice. "I don't see my weapons chest down there. Xander, go back and check in my room. It was by the bed. If it isn't there, try at Willow's place. The two of us can stay here and keep watch."

Giles nodded to the younger man, pressing himself against the ledge to let Xander shimmy past and climb back to the ground.

Now alone, Giles observed Buffy as she peered through the skylight. "Are you sure this is wise?" he asked.

She turned to him, a determined look in her eye. "I don't care from wise. I won't let them beat me."

Her power flared from places untold, and he could feel it in his bones. The vampires inside didn't look like much of anything, and now they had aroused the anger of an intoxicating force. His gut told him that the bedraggled gang didn't stand a chance. Still, his protective instinct was impossible to ignore. Their eyes remained locked, speaking volumes. "Understandable. Caution is not a crime, however."

"Sometimes it can be, if you're the Slayer."

They gazed at each other for a few more moments. There was a delicious wire of tension stretching between them, the exact flavor of which he didn't dare guess at. Giles eventually bowed his head to concede the point. The corner of her mouth turned up into a small smile that was just for him. An expression, he guessed, of thanks.

He wondered to himself what it felt like, being the Slayer. Loneliness couldn't even begin to cover it. He watched her avidly as she leaned across the skylight, curtain of blonde hair hiding her face from view. Power, solitude, righteous anger, resentment, justice, and the cruel knife of fate… one girl in all the world to bear the cross of all. And what of the Watchers? They claimed that their mandate was to protect and teach her, but what was the reality? Everything Giles knew of her from before and after they'd met screamed that the Council sought to manipulate her, to use and control her power rather than nurture it. And where was Wyndam-Pryce at a time like this, when she needed a Watcher's support? His magic burned.

Just then, he saw Buffy's spine stiffen. Her hand atop the slightly dirty glass curled into a tight fist. Concerned at what she might have seen to increase her wrath, Giles bent his tall form to look over her shoulder. Two of the vampires gleefully played catch with what looked to be a small stuffed pig.

"Mr. Gordo? Oooh, that's it. They are _so_ dusted!" She inched further up onto the frame of the steeply slanted window, bracing her foot at the corner of the glass.

Before Giles had time to wonder how old and poorly cared for the large skylight actually was, he heard an ominous creaking sound. "Buffy, I think you should-"

The window shattered beneath her, and he watched in slow motion as she began to plummet. Lunging desperately, he reached out and grabbed her ankle. Unfortunately, her velocity combined with his awkward stance caused him to lose his balance. They fell through the stale and lifeless air, together, tiny fragments of glass tinkling around them like a sharp and deadly cloud.

**xxxxx**

They had landed in a heap on the thin, tacky carpet. Her legs were on top of his legs. Or was it the other way around? Maybe they were just pretzeled. Buffy groaned, wishing it weren't such a bad time to think about… pretzeling.

A circle of slightly bewildered vampires surrounded them, and Buffy tried to sit up without grinding pieces of glass between the skin of her palms and the dirty floor. Giles appeared to be doing the same, using the strength in his torso to pull his body upright. He rubbed his shoulder, cringing, as his long legs rearranged themselves. He reached down and examined his newly smashed glasses, which had taken the brunt of the landing. Sighing heavily, he tossed them aside.

Sunday sneered. "I must say, you've really got me now. I mean, it's a diabolical plan, throw yourself at my feet with a broken arm and no weapons of any kind. How am I going to get out of this one?"

The vampire noticed Giles as though he were an afterthought. "It _was_ at least nice of you to bring a snack."

Looking at Giles sidelong, Buffy confirmed that the sword was, surprisingly, still strapped across his back inside its scabbard. Sunday didn't seem to have noticed it. She silently hoped that he knew how to use it at least a little bit better than Wesley. Whenever they trained with swords, Buffy just got confused by all the funny blade waving and French names for stuff. The Slayer didn't have time to figure out what a sword and a croissant had to do with each other. She just needed to know which end was sharp.

The vampires laughed as Sunday continued to taunt Buffy, making fun of her clothes and a few of her other knick-knacks. The Slayer's face hardened as Sunday twirled the sparkling 'class protector' parasol given to her by her classmates at Sunnydale High. It was tacky, but it was hers. And Buffy had decided that, from now on, _nobody _messed with her stuff. "You don't want to touch that."

Buffy spotted her weapons chest on the other side of the room, trying to send Giles a non-verbal message. His expression was fierce as he followed her line of sight. The nod he gave was almost imperceptible, but not to Slayer senses.

"Really?" The pale blonde vampire smiled nastily, smooth visage curling into a mock pout. She dropped the golden parasol onto the floor, stomping on the handle hard enough to snap it in two.

The moment of distraction was enough. Giles sprang up from the floor, drawing his blade and swinging it around in a wide arc. The vampire directly to his right was caught at a deadly disadvantage, dissolving into dust before his severed head hit the ground. The remaining foes took up a more defensive stance, but the Watcher's attack had served its purpose. Buffy was on her feet now, squaring off against her red lipped nemesis and creeping towards the weapons chest. Giles reached into his jacket pocket and swiftly tossed her a stake.

She caught it without missing a beat, impressed. Giles could read her signals, and seemed to understand the urgent advantage provided by sharp pointy objects. He didn't look a bit scared, either, body turned slightly away from her to guard exactly where her blind spot happened to be. Buffy's limbs fizzed happily, feeling the rightness of knowing that someone was literally watching her back. Victory seemed much more assured while the two of them were so… in sync.

Sunday vamped out, growling as she rushed at Buffy. At the same time, three of the remaining vampires ganged up on Giles.

Fangs gnashing, the black-clad female vampire kicked at Buffy's hand, causing the stake to go flying. Buffy rebounded, delivering a few swift punches of her own. Sunday was fast, though. Before Buffy knew what hit her, the blonde had spun behind her, grabbing onto the Slayer's still healing left arm. "How's the arm, anyway? I didn't quite get a chance to finish ripping it off!"

Powering through the pain, Buffy threw her body weight into a bone crunching right-handed punch. "Doing fine with this one at the moment."

Just then, Xander broke through the decrepit door with Willow and Oz in tow. Willow's face registered astonishment as she observed her history professor, caught in a furious skirmish with three vampires. Oz, as usual, seemed more or less at peace with the situation. Startled back to reality by the approaching foes, Willow fired her crossbow at the first undead attacker that entered her path.

"Whoa!" intoned the surfer dude vampire as he exploded into dust.

The battle turned into a melee as the three newcomers joined in. Arms and legs flailed, stakes jabbed, and Giles' sword racked up another vampire decapitation. All the while, Buffy and Sunday fought aggressively, neither holding anything back. As Xander battled against a purple sweatered vamp, his tennis-racket-turned-weapon splintered, handle end flying toward the Slayer. Buffy jumped wildly through the air, trying to catch the makeshift stake. Missing by millimeters, she crashed into Giles. Sword falling to the ground, his arms went around her protectively as they tripped over the coffee table and tumbled to the ground.

Watcher and Slayer landed in a tangle of limbs, with Buffy on top. His arms gripped her securely against him, loosening a little bit as the threat of injury passed. One of her hands had slipped inside his jacket, her face nestled close to a collarbone that smelled deliciously spicy. Buffy pushed herself up just enough to peek into the stormy and battle-darkened green of his eyes. Thoughtless, he pushed some wisps of golden hair away from her face. Adrenaline rushed through Buffy's body, along with something else. She could feel the heat from Giles' skin even through all their layers of clothes, at every point of contact.

Vampires weren't in the business of letting Buffy enjoy herself, though. Sunday spotted the enthralled pair from across the room, stomping over and roughly yanking Buffy up by the hair. Irritated, the Slayer picked up seamlessly with the conversation she and Sunday had been having. "By the way, did I mention? My other arm is feeling _much_ better." She glanced quickly at Giles as she spoke. "See, I met this guy who really knows how to play doctor." Her left-handed uppercut connected soundly with Sunday's jaw.

As Sunday clambered up from the ruins of what had been the coffee table, it became evident that she was the only vampire left in the room. Xander was breathing heavily, still holding half a tennis racket. Willow stood to the side, looking slightly nervous. Oz had his arms crossed, standing next to Giles with an untroubled expression on his face.

"What's the matter, no more questions for me?" Buffy quipped, raising an eyebrow at Sunday. Deftly, she brandished a stake she had retrieved from inside Giles' jacket as they fell to the floor. "Good. Then I guess this conversation is over." Smiling grimly, she flung the stake with lethal accuracy, piercing Sunday's cold and lifeless heart.

**xxxxx**

Giles felt slightly drunk as the five of them trudged along under the weight of the Slayer's belongings. Lord, but she had been magnificent. He had been occupied with his own fight, but not so much that he couldn't observe her in battle. She was deadly, spontaneous, graceful, and inventive. Seeing her in action made Giles feel sure that she was no instrument of the Council- Buffy Summers was a force of nature.

"Can we stop at your place for a minute? I think these guys could use a break."

He nodded, strangely unwilling to inform Buffy that this path was by no means the quickest way back to Stevenson Hall. All the same, a few minutes later they arrived at his doorstep. Everyone put their boxes down, slumping to rest on the curb and sidewalk. Oz and Willow held hands, listening to one of Xander's jokes. Giles peeked at Buffy as she sat down next to him on the front step, watching her friends with an affectionate look gracing her features. "They really keep me going, you know? I don't think I could do this without them."

"Yes, I think I can begin to understand the advantage."

A clock struck midnight in the distance as the two sat in companionable silence, neither willing to pull away as Buffy's shoulder leaned against Giles' arm. Both were acutely aware of the tingling resonance that passed between them, and just for a moment they reveled in it.

Buffy was, characteristically, the first to speak. "Are you gonna tell me more about Watchers and magic?"

He looked down at her, aware for the first time that she might feel the pull the same way he did. Whatever this was, buzzing between them and making his insides fall to pieces, it was powerful. It scared him a bit, as a matter of fact. And it would require some in-depth research. "Yes, if you like," he offered, "but not tonight."

"Nope," she smiled, face mere inches away from his own, "not tonight."

Her eyes held a certain type of promise, and Giles felt for a moment like a frightened zebra in a lion's den.

"-got a study group in the morning. Hey Buff, are you ready?" The moment was broken by Willow's shout, ringing out bell-like beneath the blanket of night.

Buffy rose to her feet, and Giles followed with some degree of reluctance. "You'll be alright from here?"

"Yeah, we're good. Should be a quiet walk back, considering."

"Do be careful, Buffy. There are still… things out there." At least he needn't warn her about the Initiative just yet; the commandos would take no interest in a group of boisterous college students out late on a Saturday night. "If you need me again, don't hesitate to ask."

They exchanged awkward smiles, and Buffy made her way down the front steps. "Oh," she exclaimed, "there is _one_ thing you could do for me… if it's not too much trouble."

Giles looked at the Slayer expectantly, tilting his head.

"Could you call Wes and let him know what happened? It probably would be best for him to know, but my phone isn't hooked up yet and I've got to get these guys home…"

Sighing, Giles crossed his arms over his chest. He supposed this moment had been inevitable. They all knew he was a Watcher now, obviously, so it was bound to get back to Wesley in time. He glared, just the same. "You realize you are dooming me to an endless supply of weekends spent listening to Wyndam-Pryce whine about the cricket test?"

"Ewww. I'll rescue you if that happens, I swear." She pouted.

He was undone, sighing in resignation. "I'll call him in the morning. Lord knows we've all earned our rest tonight."

There was that smile again, the one that was just for him. "Thanks, professor. For everything."

"Giles."

Her eyebrows crinkled. "Huh?"

His lips quirked into a grin that was barely there. "Just call me Giles. I feel a bloody antique when people call me 'professor'."

Blushing, she nodded. "Giles it is. Goodnight."

The others said their goodbyes also, and they trundled away with the boxes weighing them down. The Watcher watched as the friends approached the corner, giving a small wave to Buffy when she looked back one last time. Lord but he needed a Scotch. He certainly deserved one. He would settle for a nice cup of tea.

What a long and utterly astonishing day it had been, and knowing Sunnydale it would just get weirder as the weeks rolled by. Especially with a fiery and independent Slayer in his life. One girl in all the world, and she had walked into his class. What was this? Fate? Magic? Coincidence? Luck? He wasn't sure. Retrieving his sword and letting himself into the flat, Rupert Giles made a vow that he would find out.

**xxxxx**

_**The following day…**_

"…and I can't believe you went on your own to face the threat without telling me. What were you thinking? These actions must be prepared, planned carefully. You can't just run in with your guns blazing and expect to win all the time!"

Buffy scowled at her Watcher, sitting across from her with a plate of toast and jam in front of him. "Slayer, Wes, remember? Not a gun in sight. Plus, I had some Watcherly backup _and_ the Slayerettes. Everything went fine, so what's the big?"

Frowning in disapproval, Wesley fiddled with the teapot. "Well, I can't say that I care much for your choice of 'backup'. That man is a rogue element, Buffy. You would do well to keep your distance."

Feeling brash, Buffy let the conversation run wild. "Rogue element, huh? That's my favorite type. Him and I should get along just fine!"

Wesley ignored her flip comment, totally missing the veiled implication. "Don't get me wrong. Mr. Giles is quite skilled. Excellent credentials, and I've always found him to be more or less a gentleman. But he is dangerous, just the same. Rumour has it he was quite the hell-raiser in his youth, and he's been running around for years on confidential missions for the Council…"

The Slayer's interest was definitely piqued. Sometimes Wesley could be quite the fountain of information, but right now she just felt like getting under his skin. "He's kinda handsome, too. Maybe we should mingle."

"Buffy, I really don't think-"

"I mean, dinner and movie with the cutest prof on campus? Sounds okay to me!"

Finally, he paused. Dark blue eyes regarding her from behind polished lenses, Wesley's hand was frozen in mid-air. His mouth hung slightly open, presumably anticipating the arrival of his teacup. "That," he intoned, "is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. I absolutely forbid it!"

Smiling triumphantly, Buffy bounced in her seat. "Oh yeah? Forbidden, huh? Now I'm _definitely_ going to do it!" She got up from her seat, slinging her purse over her shoulder and heading for the door.

"Buffy-!"

"Later, Wes! See you for training tomorrow!"

Slamming the door behind her and scurrying quickly down the sidewalk, Buffy contemplated the overwhelming newness in her life. There was college, new friends, and life away from home. Even though UC Sunnydale was just across town it was still a world apart, like its own private civilization. An ivory tower, standing off on its own. And Giles? Well, he was something else entirely. The mysterious past, the cryptic warnings, and the weird magic… count this Slayer intrigued, especially if Wesley was so hyped up about him. Not to mention, there was that handsome face and yummy bod to contemplate. She would have no trouble paying attention in history, that was for sure. And if there happened to be coffee? She definitely wouldn't hate that.

As for the rest, who knew what the year might bring? Buffy strolled through the gates of the campus, bathed in sunlight and ready to face the next challenge…

**xxxxx**

Only one note for this chapter, which is: Would Xander know about the Enlightenment? It's definitely debatable. I figured, what the heck- maybe he absorbed some knowledge from Willow's tutoring at one time or another. Clearly he doesn't know enough to have any idea who Montesquieu is.

That's it for this story! There will be more to come from this universe; probably four stories in total. Already in the planning stages for the next installment, which is almost sure to include some wacky Watcher/Slayer sex magic. Did you *really* think I could stay away from smut for that long? Thanks for reading, and a happy Summer of Giles to all of you! ^_^


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